


düsseldorf

by zetaophiuchi (ryuujitsu)



Category: SKAM (France), SKAM (TV) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Holy Italics Batman, Jumpsuit-Related Bondage, Light Bondage, M/M, Of Jumpsuit Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RPF, ao3 has given us this gift of tagging and look how I abuse it, jumpsuit, maxel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 16:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuujitsu/pseuds/zetaophiuchi
Summary: “The zipper's stuck,” Axel says, muffled.*The jumpsuit porn that absolutely no one asked for.





	düsseldorf

**Author's Note:**

> /spreads hands
> 
> Had to do it. Obviously, this is a departure from reality (in so many ways), as I’m fairly certain Axel did _not_ accompany our boy MDF to Germany.

The jumpsuit does something to Axel, he notices. At the automatic doors, at security, at their gate, Axel keeps glancing at it, at him, big blue eyes following the gleam of silver at the center of his chest.

Axel says, “And the zip—the zip—it goes all the way down? _All _the way?”

A flight attendant is demonstrating the features of their 737. He wonders if he should demonstrate the features of this jumpsuit. He doesn’t.

“Pervert,” he says, grinning, and Axel flushes and elbows him.

They buckle their seatbelts. They fly to Düsseldorf. He goes to his photoshoot (the jumpsuit comes off and comes back on when it’s over), and Axel goes to a museum. They get dinner. They get drinks.

They kiss. They don’t stop kissing.

Fifteen minutes ago, Maxence was peeling back one edge of the jumpsuit to show Axel the embroidered figures fucking on the right breast of his t-shirt. It wasn’t the sunbathers who set Axel off, with their pink string bodies and red string mouths: it was the partial unzipping of the suit and the furtive tug. Ten minutes ago, he was exclaiming in surprise as Axel shoved him into the corner of the elevator and practically crawled up his torso to kiss him. Five minutes ago they were necking in the hallway with their hands darting all over, staggering gradually toward, against, and through the door of Maxence’s room. And now—

Now the door is closed and bolted and Axel’s on his knees and his hands are on Maxence’s ass, kneading him through the fabric, and Maxence knows where this is going but still can’t quite believe it.

Axel pauses. “Think they’ve done this? Lucas and Eliott?”

What’s _this_? he wonders. Pawed at each other in an empty corridor of a Düsseldorf hotel at one in the morning? Axel squeezes his thigh and nuzzles at him with his cheek, and he gulps. Oh—_this_.

“They would never. They’re _innocent_, they…”

“Innocent?” Axel snorts. “There was hotboxing.”

“You know what I mean. They’re kids. Babies.”

“They won’t stay seventeen forever. They have imaginations. You don’t think you went down on me on the houseboat?”

“What?”

“And I’ve been on Grindr.”

“_What?_”

“Lucas,” Axel clarifies. “_Lucas_ has been on Grindr.” He looks up and grins. “Do you want this or not? Hmm?”

“Sorry,” he says, “sorry, yes.” Axel’s eyes are so blue and deep and avid, looking at him, only him; the light is shining across the wet pink stretch of Axel’s lower lip. He clears his throat and tries to say, loftily, munificently, “Please do continue,” but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a sticky, sickly, “_Please_.”

“Fuck,” Axel says very softly. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth and presses forward.

He can feel the heat of Axel’s mouth through the cloth, the rough sweep of his tongue as it traces the silver line of the zipper over and over. Axel’s moaning as he licks, his breath puffing through his nostrils in little gusts. He pulls away to bite the inside of Maxence’s thigh—holding Maxence steady against the tremor that sweeps through him—and goes back to sucking, spanning the base of Maxence’s dick with his palm.

The sensation is all dull heat and pressure and snagging dampness. He wants Axel’s mouth on him, on his skin, wants to feel the smooth slide of his lips and tongue. He wants it so much he’s starting to feel sick.

“Axel,” he says, faint and reedy. “Axel!”

Axel pushes at his hips. Obligingly, Maxence reels backward, one step, two, until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He flops down, starfished across the covers. Axel clambers up and leans over him on all fours.

“Want me to unzip you?” he says, low.

“Fuck yes,” Maxence says fervently. He groans as Axel cups him and throws his head back as Axel kisses his throat and his collarbone beneath his t-shirt. “Yes. _Yes_.”

Axel’s teeth clatter against the metal pull.

“Ow,” he says, recoiling.

“Don’t chew on it, just pull, just use your fingers—_ah_, _mm_—”

“Hush,” Axel says, still palming him through the fabric. “You’re distracting me.”

“You’re going to chip your—” Axel gives him another squeeze, and he moans “—your fucking tooth.”

“Quiet,” Axel says.

He leans in and takes the pull between his teeth again. Maxence holds his breath and counts the pockmarks in the ceiling tile. One, two, three…

With a slow, relentless drag of his head, Axel unzips Maxence all the way to his belly, and then a little lower, and then he stops.

“Axel!”

“It’s stuck,” Axel says, muffled.

“Oh _putain_,” he says. “This fucking—”

“Just kidding,” Axel says.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Right now?” Axel says cheerfully. His chin moves against Maxence as he speaks; Maxence grips the comforter with both hands and tries not to thrust at him. “Really? You sure? You might want to wait a little first, hey?”

“I’ve waited long enough,” he says, voice cracking, “I—”

Grinning, Axel jerks the suit open all the way and pulls his briefs down. The air hits him, cold against his damp skin, and he chokes off into silence.

Axel is silent, too.

“It’s bare,” he says finally. “You, you—”

“Axel please,” he says. “Please Axel come on.”

“You _shaved_ your—”

He puts his hands in Axel’s hair, not pushing, not pulling, just threading his fingers through. Axel goes quiet; his breath puffs against Maxence’s dick, faster and faster, and then he opens his mouth.

He cries out; he can’t help it. Taking his cue, Axel shoves himself eagerly forward, swallowing as much of Maxence as he can, stretching until his lips meet his fist. He gags. The little choked off sound, the bubbling sputter of Axel’s lips around him, vibrates in his gut and goes straight to his balls. He’s going to embarrass himself, he thinks, as Axel tries again and gags again, rubbing his tongue under the head of Maxence’s dick as he works him, letting Maxence bump against the roof of his mouth.

The sharp silver teeth of his zipper dig into his hips, squashed under Axel’s elbows; Axel’s hair slips between his fingers, tickling his stomach. Abruptly, Axel looks up, cheeks hollowing, piercing Maxence with his eyes, which seem to be raised in mute entreaty; his cheeks are burning red.

“Oh _fuck_,” Maxence gasps, “oh _fuck_—”

Axel makes a noise—of protest, of delight—as Maxence’s hands jerk in his hair, but it’s too late. He thrusts up, cramming himself deep into that warm delicious suction, and comes in spurts.

When he opens his eyes, Axel is gazing at him with his mouth full: he meets Maxence’s stare and tries to smile and starts to dribble instead. The sight electrocutes him. He groans and reaches up and rubs his thumb over Axel’s lips, drawing a trail through the mess.

Axel looks at him, red-faced, teary-eyed, and swallows.

“Fuck,” Maxence breathes.

Axel sits up and scrubs at his mouth with the back of his hand. The tip of his tongue flashes between the knuckles of his third and ring fingers, pink and pointed, and then he grabs at Maxence’s wrist, catches it, and wipes his mouth against Maxence’s sleeve. Maxence feels the hot press of his tongue as he swipes it clean.

He unsticks his own tongue with a click.

“You ruined my jumpsuit.”

“_I _ruined,” Axel starts, and then he registers the quietness of Maxence’s voice, the danger, and glances at him, quick and concerned. “I—sorry,” he says, as Maxence strips himself, pulling his hands from the sleeves and his feet from the trouser legs and shimmying free. “I can have it cleaned, I—”

He trails off.

“Max_ence_,” he says.

“Yes?” Maxence says, all innocence. He finishes looping one sleeve around the other and pulls, cinching Axel’s forearms together behind his back.

It’s not a tight knot by any means, but the fabric is rough and slightly soggy: difficult to wriggle out of. Axel tries anyway, halfheartedly, sinking back on Maxence’s knee, dragging himself over Maxence’s naked thigh with a rasp of denim. 

“Are you serious?” Axel says.

His voice is hoarse. Maxence thinks about his dick brushing the back of Axel’s throat again and again while Axel’s mouth fluttered around him, strained to accommodate him. He finds a loose piece of the jumpsuit—part of a sleeve, a leg, the collar, he doesn’t know or care. He drapes it over Axel’s shoulder and brings it to Axel's lips.

Axel looks at him and inhales and opens his mouth.

Maxence wads the fabric up and pushes it in.

“I liked it when you had your mouth full,” he says. And Axel moans.

He undoes Axel’s button and pulls his zip open—pulls _with his fingers_ because he values his teeth, he tells Axel, and because he isn’t evil, and Axel rolls his eyes and nudges him with his knee and groans into his gag as Maxence yanks his jeans and briefs down.

He prods Axel’s legs wider, and Axel kneels over him, spread open and shivering, wobbling a bit as Maxence pumps him. He’s drooling around the gag, drooling down his chin, his eyes fixed on Maxence’s face. He starts to whine as Maxence fondles his balls, tugging at them, his cock jumping in Maxence’s fist. He bounces up and down on his knees, trying to jam himself against Maxence’s palm.

The movement uncrumples the fabric in his mouth, but he keeps it between his lips, clamping down as hard as he can. Tiny sounds are still escaping him, though: the gurgle of his bitten-off cries, the hiss of his breath through his nostrils, the squelch of his cock under Maxence’s hand.

“Did you like it, gagging on me?” Maxence asks.

Axel answers with a frantic nod, and Maxence tells Axel he wants to do it again, fill him up, press inside him and fuck him until his mouth is swollen. He fumbles between Axel’s taut trembling legs and pushes against him with two fingers as he talks, and Axel squeezes his eyes shut and spits the fabric out and comes all over Maxence’s hand.

It was a sleeve after all, Maxence sees. He puts his wet hands on Axel’s face and drags him down to kiss him. Axel ruts against him lazily, sighing a bit as Maxence licks at the corner of his mouth.

When he draws away, Axel stays where he is, a warm heavy bundle, his lips mashed against Maxence’s cheek, his shoulders rigid.

“Fuck,” Maxence says. “Sorry.” He scrambles to free Axel’s hands, and then he sees that the knot unraveled ages ago and Axel’s been keeping his own arms locked behind his back, all on his own.

His dick twitches. Axel notices. He lifts himself onto his elbows and laughs at Maxence, softly for once, his eyes shining.

“Pervert,” he says, and Maxence hauls him down and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked, please [reblog](https://hallo-catfish.tumblr.com/post/186755426214/d%C3%BCsseldorf-archive-of-our-own)!


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